The Founders
by tigrrrlily
Summary: After the death of his beloved mother, Godric Gryffindor leaves home to seek a better life. After running into childhood friend Rowena Buchanan, soon to be Ravenclaw, and being forced to go to her wedding, he meets her old friend Helga Hufflepuff and an enigmatic young man named Salazar Slytherin...
1. Chapter 1

His mother had called him darling. She'd said darling in her raspy voice as she raised a hand. He'd hurried to her side and took her hand in his own, kissing it feverishly. His mother, who only yesterday, had stroked his hair.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

The preacher was soft-spoken, so soft that Godric had to strain to listen to him. He couldn't look up, because when he did, he would see it. He would see the coffin that was holding his beautiful, laughing, sick, listless, and finally dead mother. His sister wept beside him, her hand clutching his robe in a tight grip like only a child had. She was only seven and she'd already lost her mother. But one day her memories would fade and Godric hated her for that. Because he would always remember how his mother prefered gold over silver and her smile whenever his father would call her his heart's delight. She was his heart's delight and yet his father was stone-faced. All of the servants were there, the women crying softly. Beatrix Gryffindor had been a beloved woman. And yet her own husband, who had worshipped her, couldn't even muster a single tear.

Then again, neither could her only son. But he had cried. He had held Gillian late into the night last night and they'd cried and cried and cried at the loss of their mother. He had cried long after Gillian had tired herself out and slept with the deep sleep of a child. He had cried until the sun had peeked up over the horizon and his father had come into the room, his eyes dry. And he had pulled Godric to his feet, grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. As they stood there, Godric felt his own tears stop as he looked his father square in the face. Finally he spoke.

"Have courage, my son. We will carry on."

ONE YEAR LATER

 _Dear brother,_

 _Father says that you won't be home for Christmas again this year. Why aren't you coming back? I miss you terribly and so does Father, even if he won't say it. It's so lonely here without you and mother. Please come home._

 _Love,_

 _Your sister Gillian_

Godric's hand held the piece of parchment as tenderly as if it were a wounded bird. His sister's childish scrawl, the carefully spelled out words- he ached with missing her. The lanterns in the tavern were dim, making it hard to read, but he read it over again for good measure before folding it up and tucking it into his tunic just above his heart.

It had been almost a year since he had left home. It had only taken a week after his mother's funeral for him to realize that his home was no longer home- not without Mother there. And how could he possibly be brave when her laugh echoed through the halls. He'd packed his things, kissed Gillian goodbye and left with the sound of her wails echoing in the air. He knew that she would be alright. She would move on.

He was starting to wonder if he ever would.

"Oi, you!" He looked up, his unkempt red hair falling across his face. The man who owned this place was standing over him, his arms crossed across his chest. "Are you going to have something to drink or eat? Coz if you aren't, get out."

"I'll take whatever you recommend to drink, sir," he said politely, his manners like a white handkerchief on the dirt packed floor. The man grunted suspiciously but went to fetch a drink. Godric felt in his pocket for the coin to have ready on his return.

In the past year, he'd been wandering all over England, staying in inns, buying drinks for those he found agreeable, dueling those who he didn't. After his money started to run out, he began to sell the wands of his unfortunate opponents to black market dealers. His mother would've shook her head in disapproval, but she wasn't there. That was the whole problem. She wasn't there.

"You!"

"Ah, yes-" he looked up and found him facing several disagreeable looking men. "Well hello, gentlemen. You weren't who I was expecting." The one he assumed was their leader, the largest and stupidest looking, blinked several times before his face settled deeply into a scowl.

"You're that bloke who's been going around taking the wands off every bleedin' wizard in the country."

"Just the ones who make the fatal mistake of trying to duel me," he responded, trying to keep his tone light.

"You took my brother's wand the other night," the man said, his beady eyes narrowed with rage. "I'd like it back."

"And since you asked so politely, I'd love to give it back to you," Godric said. "Unfortunately, I'm no longer in possession of it."

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean I've sold it. Terribly sorry, but a man does have to make a living and it's the only way I know how. As you can see, I'm not much good for manual labor." He gestured to his slight frame, his hand calculatedly landing on his hip where a thin piece of wood was tucked into his belt. The two men glanced uneasily at their leader whose face was turning red.

"You've- you sold- you little-" He drew his wand and the other men followed suit.

"Now now gentlemen, let's be reasonable. Let me buy you a drink and we can discuss this."

"You'll be buying me more than a drink. You'll be buying my brother a new wand and yourself a healer." Godric's fingers closed around his own wand, mentally running through his list of spells that he was best at. He'd been trained in duelling by his father, who had never lost. His father would be disappointed to see him now, ready to fight three simpletons who had no chance of winning against him, but he wasn't there. And Godric didn't want him to be there. Now Gillian would have found this too exciting. She'd be gasping and clutching a large hunk of her red hair, green eyes blazing with excitement. She'd always wanted to see her big brother duel. And he wanted her there, if only to reassure him that he was doing the right thing.

But before they could even begin to fight, the door swung open, the cool night air rushing in. "Now now now, gentlemen," a silky Scottish voice trilled. The men turned, their angry expressions melting into slack-jawed stares of awe. "We don't want a fight with dear old Godric Gryffindor here, do we?"

She had raven-black hair that tumbled down her back in curls, contrasting brilliantly with her sapphire blue cloak. Her own wand hung from a belt on her hip, but she didn't need to reach for it. Her voice and her striking beauty had charmed them enough. And in spite of himself, Godric smiled at the sight of her.

 _They were two years apart, she the younger. Yet she always acted superior to him in every way. She liked to talk about how she learned to read almost a year before he did and that despite his dueling aptitude, she was better at magic than him. "Just because you know more spells doesn't make you better," he'd tell her, twirling his wand around casually. His hair hung to his shoulders in red curls while her own dark locks were always pulled away from her angular face. "You know them, but it takes you so long to do them. I can cast a spell in a second."_

" _That might come in handy when you're dueling," she said, her voice smug and her smile a smirk. "But in the real world, I can cast much more impressive magic than you. Father says I'm the only fourteen year old who he's ever known who can cast a corporeal Patronus."_

" _Well I've never seen you do it," he said defensively. He didn't like to admit that she might be smarter than him. "Prove it." He expected her to balk at the challenge, but she smiled as if she'd expected him to do just that. Drawing her wand, she screwed up her face in concentration._

 _As he watched her, her features became serene. Finally, her lashes fluttered open and she said clearly, "Expecto Patronum!" He watched in amazement as a smoky eagle burst out of her wand and flew in circles around them. "See?" she said, laughing at his awed expression. "It's easy!"_

" _How did you do that?" he asked, watching the eagle. It flew around them several more times as it faded into the air until it was gone._

" _You just have to think of a happy memory, the happiest you've ever known and you sort of just let it power the spell."_

" _What do you think of?" Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away. "What do you think of, R-"_

" _I've got to go," she said abruptly. "Hellie's written me a letter and I have to write her back."_

" _But-" She scurried off, throwing a glance over her shoulder at him. And as she did, it occurred to him that perhaps he was the happiest thing that she thought of._

"Godric Gryffindor," she said coolly, an eyebrow raised. "I never thought I'd cross you here." He grinned at her and the corner of her mouth turned up until she fought it back down.

"Rowena." Her name was as unfamiliar on his tongue as it was familiar. "You're a sight for sore eyes."


	2. Chapter 2

"Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I've got to properly greet my dear friend," she said, her lips turned up in a gentle, amused smile. The two obediently parted but the biggest one stood his ground.

"This feller here owes my brother a new wand," he said challengingly, hovering above her. "I'm not leaving without the money fo-"

"But of course." Her hand appeared from inside her robes, clutching a money bag. "Will twenty Galleons cover it?" The men gaped as she carelessly poured out the gold coins into her hand and pressed them into his. "That should be about enough. Now off we go. Enjoy your evening!" They walked away, casting confused glances back as she settled onto the bench across from Godric. "Really, Godric? A wand?"

"Do you know how much a black marker wand fetches these days?" he said. The owner reappeared with his drink. "Ah, thank you, sir. Perhaps we could have another for my friend here."

"I'll pass, thank you," she said politely. After he left, she leaned forward across the table. "But you're Godric Gryffindor. You come from one of the wealthiest families in England."

"And you come from the wealthiest family in Scotland. Yet you're in this tavern in the middle of the countryside, hundreds of miles away from home."

"And not taking wands off innocent wizards to use for drinking money."

"Rowena." She tilted her head, her eyes flashing intelligently. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." Her fingers played nervously with each other. "Imagine my surprise when I went to the Gryffindor estate to look for you, only to find you've been gone for nearly a year. I seem to recall when you were twelve that you vowed never to leave your home, even in death."

"Once upon a time," he said, taking a long drink before continuing. "My mother was alive then and I thought I'd have a home to come back to." She reached for his hand and held it for a moment. The firelight danced on her pale skin and he was struck by how the ugly duckling of his childhood has blossomed into this swan before him.

"I'm sorry I didn't come for the funeral."

"It was all very sudden."

"I still should've come."

"It's alright." He blinked back his tears as she pretended not to notice. "So," he continued brightly, sipping his drink. "What is Rowena Buchanan up to these days? Planning to take over the entire wizarding world still?"

"Well, the plan right now is to survive the next month." Her expression was new and confusing. "And I'm afraid that Buchanan won't be a part of my name much longer." He stared at her for a moment.

"You're not-"

"I am." She reached for his drink and took a long sip. "I'm getting married."

"You're- what- who?" For once, the normally articulate Godric was at a complete loss for words. "This is a joke, right? Is this to get back for the time that I moved your books out of alphabetical order."

"It's not a joke, Godric. I'm really getting married, next week."

"Who in God's name could possibly be good enough to marry you?" Her cheeks flushed and she twirled her hair. For how smart she was, she still had all the typical tendencies of an eighteen year old girl.

"Alastair Ravenclaw."

"Sounds like a prick." She hit his arm and he pretended like it didn't hurt. "So this time next week, you'll be Rowena Ravenclaw."

"I think it has a nice ring to it," she mused.

"So this Alastair. What's he like? Tell me all about your precious groom to be."

"How'd you like to meet him instead?" He immediately felt his eyebrows going up, a natural reflex. "You are one of my oldest friends besides Helga and how can I possibly get married and not have you there? It's going to be a very small ceremony and I promised, it'll be as painless as possible."

"I seriously doubt that. Watching the smartest girl I know promise to cherish and be subservient to some loser? All the ale in the world couldn't get me there."

"There we go," she said, rolling her eyes. "Still against the concept of marriage?"

"Completely and utterly," he confirmed. "Why would I agree to marry a girl who is stupid enough to agree that I can push her around and whore around behind her back and essentially do whatever I want?"

"Not all marriages are like that."

"Well I hope to God yours isn't." She looked at him pleadingly and he softened. "You know I wish you the best. But going and seeing your family and having all the single girls there trying to tell me that they should become insert-name-here Gryffindor and watching some moron fawn all over you-"

"He's not a moron. Honestly, I think you two will get along quite well," she said, a small grin creeping onto her face. "And I am the smartest girl you know, so I do understand what I'm talking about." He groaned and laid his forehead on the table. After a moment, her slim fingers tentatively began to stroke his thick red hair. "Godric, I'm terrified and you're the bravest person I know," she said quietly. "Please. Do it for me." He sat up, but her fingers remained in his hair, cupped around the back of his head. Once their eyes locked, he regretted letting her do this. But it felt so nice to be touched by someone he trusted. It was like when he was young and his mother would stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

But this wasn't that kind of touch. Rowena's eyes were filled with an entirely different kind of love, the kind that sent a sensible girl running around the country looking for a boy who she hadn't seen in five years. The kind that made a girl run towards another man a week before she was supposed to be married. The kind that he had been avoiding for their whole lives. And so he pulled back, her fingers sliding out of his hair, across his cheek and his jaw until they were left dangling longingly in mid-air. She pulled her arm back to her side jerkily, looking down so that he wouldn't see the disappointment in her eyes. And he felt guilty. Guilty enough.

"Alright fine, but I'm going to look ridiculous in my dress robes," he said, his tone annoyed but his eyes playful. Her expression brightened.

"Well not once you've had a haircut."

"I'm not getting a haircut! I've been working on this style for longer than you've been engaged to that bum Alastair." She rolled her eyes again, but laughed this time. "My good sir!" he called out, banging on the table for emphasis. "We'll both need a drink before we leave. We've got a wedding to get to."


End file.
